


Rain

by tess1978



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:06:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6056092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tess1978/pseuds/tess1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur Maxson pursues the Sole Survivor after she destroys all his hopes and dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Poor Arthur, never seems to get a happy ending when I write for him. 
> 
> On the plus side, I promise he's still alive at the end.

Arthur Maxson flinched as the cold steel of the 10mm pistol jammed into the back of his skull. He knew who it was without even turning around. She was known as Wanderer to the Railroad, a piece of intel he’d picked up from an observant scribe who’d seen her hanging around with that shifty Railroad trash. But to the Brotherhood she was known as Knight. Or was, until he’d sent her to execute a synth spy and she hadn’t returned. 

He raised his hands in the air, contemplating his chances of spinning around and knocking the gun from her hands. Not good, he figured. He was faster, stronger. But she had the upper hand right now. 

“Your airship is rigged to explode in less than ten minutes, Maxson,” she snarled in his ear. “And you’re going down with it. But I think I’m going to take myself a souvenir. Your coat.” 

He had no choice but to shrug his way out of the coat. He tried to drop it on the floor, thinking he could catch her wrist when she bent to pick it up; but she was smarter than that, and caught it in her fist as it fell. 

“Hands on the railing.” she told him. With his back to her, he didn’t see her eyes rake him from top to bottom, admiring his muscular torso in his black jumpsuit as he leaned over the railing. 

She kept the gun pointed at his head as she backed towards the door, only turning when she reached it and sprinting for the vertibird.

Maxson wasted no time. He didn’t follow her. Instead he made for the ladder leading up into the main portion of the airship. He shouted as he ran for the power armour hangar, “Everyone, evacuate! This ship is going down!”

He ran for the hangar, fast for such a large man, skidding to a stop in front of his own, rarely used armour. He stepped inside, then made for the forecastle door at a dead run, shouting for everyone to escape. Luckily there weren’t many people aboard at this time of day; most of them were on assignment and weren’t due back for at least a few hours. 

He briefly wondered if she’d planned it that way, but no time to think. He burst through the forecastle door and ran to the end of the walkway, and then taking a breath, leapt from the airship. 

***

He hit the ground running, looking to the sky. She’d come on a vertibird, and it wasn’t hard to figure out which one it was. Most of the evacuating craft were flown by experienced pilots, taking off smoothly and heading to Fort Strong. But one was careening wildly from side to side, and a paladin still aboard the Prydwen was firing a gatling laser at it. Maxson ran in that direction.

It set down briefly on the other side of the airport, and he could distantly see a slim shape emerge, alone, before the vertibird took off again, headed north.

He headed for the shape, sprinting quickly, but easily in the armour. The cell would drain fast at this rate, but he wouldn’t need it once he caught her. He didn’t turn when his airship blew up behind him.

His eyes never left her, but it took nearly twenty minutes at a dead sprint to catch up with her. By then his fusion core was beeping alarmingly, but he paid no heed. He cornered her near an abandoned service station, just as his core expired and he was ejected from the power armour. 

He hopped out quickly, so as to not allow her to escape. He was untired from the run, his armour having done most of the work, but she was winded and he knew she couldn’t get away from him if she ran. 

And so did she.

He stared at her for a long time, unspeaking. She stood, panting, her chest heaving under his coat. And she stared back at him, observing him in the twilight. He stood in shadow, but backlit from the burning wreck of the Prydwen, unseen behind the buildings and trees, but lighting up the overcast sky like a sunset. 

He’d torn his jumpsuit, exiting the armour, or the ship perhaps, and the left shoulder and sleeve were torn badly. She could see his shoulder muscle bulge through the gap, and she briefly contemplated sliding her fingers into the tear and caressing his arm, but the rage in his blue eyes put a stop to that line of thinking. She clenched her hand shut, and then took a step backwards towards the door to the service station. 

As she did, a flash of lightning lit the sky, followed by a roll of thunder. Their eyes both shot to the bolt of lightning, distracted momentarily, but like animals, they soon went back to glaring at each other, hackles raised. 

The sky opened up. A drop of rain, then two, then torrents, buckets suddenly came from the sky, but still the two stared, caught in each other’s angry eyes.

Maxson’s torn flight suit was wired and specially constructed to interface with his power armour. As soon as it got wet, it began to spark and flare at the tear. Without breaking eye contact, he stripped to the waist, removing the top portion. The rain continued to fall.

Water ran onto his hair, forcing the slicked back strands to fall in his face. Streams of water ran down his cheeks and neck, and his shoulders glistened with wet. Rivulets trickled through the hair on his chest and down past his navel, drawing her eyes lower. 

He took a step forward, and her eyes shot back to his face. She stepped back in response, finding the door handle behind her and opening it. She spun, tried to enter, but he was faster and got his foot in the door before she could shut it in his face. 

He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her inside, shutting the door behind him and barricading it. 

She glanced around the service station. It had clearly been used as a shelter or home at some point long ago; there were several mattresses pushed up against one wall, some supplies on the shelf, and a table with two chairs. A thick layer of dust covered everything. Clearly the place had not been used for quite some time. 

There was nowhere else to run. She knew he had her… or so he thought. She was willing to allow him to continue thinking that for now. 

She turned to look at Maxson. His anger was palpable. He didn’t bother to blink the water out of his eyes. He took a step towards her, and then another. She stood her ground. Lifted her chin a bit, meeting his gaze. When he was in arm’s reach of her, instead of stepping back, she stepped forward, until his coat was almost brushing his chest. 

She tilted her face up further, forcing him to look down at her to continue meeting her gaze. She placed one hand on his chest and stood on her toes until her breath was warming his lips. She whispered, “I knew you’d come.”

Maxson stepped back, shaken. He had no idea how he had lost control of this situation. He had followed her in here with no set goal, just a blinding, red anger. And now what? She’d somehow turned that anger into something else, something she could manipulate. He could kill her right now… wrap his hands around her throat and choke the filthy, betraying life out of her. 

But that would make him a murderer. And he was no murderer.

He’d killed, yes, in battle. But he’d never taken a life in cold blood. And he was unwilling to do so now, even though she deserved it for her betrayal and for destroying everything he held dear. 

She knew it. And that’s how she’d gained the upper hand. 

He’d gain it back. The only way he could. With the only weapon he had left. 

He glanced down at her, slowly, his expression arrogant, his posture displaying all the dominance he didn’t feel. He scanned her from head to foot, taking in her chin length auburn hair, her dark brown eyes, and her slender form, hidden under his coat. His stolen coat.

“Take off my coat.” he told her. 

She lowered her eyes and obeyed him. But somehow that didn’t make him feel any better. She slid it off her shoulders, slowly, and pulled her right hand out, before carefully working the left sleeve off over her pip-boy. She handed it to him, and he tossed it on one of the ancient mattresses in the corner.

She was wearing jeans and a dirty white t-shirt under his coat. And judging by the shadowy nipples he could see peaking beneath the thin fabric, nothing else. He felt his cock twitch in his pants, his hard-fought sense of control slipping. 

She took a step towards him, pressing herself up to his damp chest, her breasts flattening at the bottom of his ribs. She tilted her face up to his again. Looking at him expectantly.

He frowned and pushed her back. His face reddened as he realized that his wet chest had soaked through her shirt and her nipples were no longer shadowy. They were clearly showing through her shirt, rosy brown and pebbled.

He felt like something else had taken control of him as he raised his hand to her breast, cupping it through her shirt. His thumb flicked her nipple, and it strained even harder against the fabric. Without being asked, she took her shirt by the waist and pulled it off over her head, working it over her pip-boy the same as she had done with his coat. 

Her breasts bounced slightly with her movements, and he was mesmerised momentarily, until she dropped the shirt on the floor and looked up at him again. He avoided her gaze, closing his eyes and clenching his fists, until he could bear it no longer. He ground his teeth together. He wasn’t going to let her win. He took her roughly around the waist and dragged her close, bending her backwards over his arm. He ran his hand from her belly, between her breasts, to her throat, closing his fingers there lightly. Not enough to hurt, just enough to let her know _he_ had the strength, _he_ was the one in control. 

His mouth came down of its own accord and clamped itself on her nipple. She gasped when she felt his hard mouth, his beard rasping against the tender skin of her ribs. The way she’d pictured it when she’d watched him striding around the Prydwen, his potency simmering just below his calm surface, his righteous dignity doing nothing to hide the intensity in his gaze. She’d spent many a night aboard the ship imagining him mashing her into the walls, pulling her hands behind her back as he bent her over a table.

Her imagination was a weak shadow compared to the reality of his teeth scraping her skin, his hand plucking at her nipples until they were swollen and red. His thigh came between her legs and she had no choice but to ride it as he tipped her further back, taking away her balance and leaving her to cling to his upper arms to keep from falling. 

She felt herself slipping into need, the arousal in her belly becoming a tense coil, so she stopped him, by slipping her fingers to his face and running her thumb over his brow, a gentle caress. 

His eyes opened and shot to hers. As soon as he caught her eyes she lowered them, stilling herself, looking away and forcing her breathing to calm.

He stood her up on her feet and took a deep breath. He didn’t know how she kept doing this. Making him lose himself. She was quiet, and still, not fighting him. Not speaking. And yet somehow he felt like she was running everything, like it was all planned somehow for her benefit. 

She stood looking at the floor. Still. He watched her, observing. Her fingers were moving, tapping and flexing by her thigh. Maybe she wasn’t as unaffected as he thought. Maybe she _wanted_ him angry. Wanted him to lose control. Somehow that played into her hands. 

He decided to wait. To see what she would do. She couldn’t stand there forever. One of them would have to move first. 

He stared at her hair, she stared at the floor. He watched as her breathing became slow and even. Her fingers stopped fidgeting, and her hands balled into fists. Her breathing was too even. Like she was forcing it to be even. He cocked an eyebrow. He waited. 

He won the battle. She finally looked up at him, her eyes dark with lust. 

“Elder Maxson? Sir?” she whispered. Husky. 

He won the battle, but he lost the war. 

“Take off your pants,” he ordered, harshly, and she rushed to obey, her compliance somehow undermining him, and when she stood again in front of him, bare except for the dull green glow of her pip-boy, he stepped up to her and slid his fingers between her legs. 

The slick wetness of her told a truth she couldn’t hide with controlled breathing and downcast eyes, and his fingers pushed inside her easily, and she started to sway. 

He looked around, spotted the filthy mattresses, and the lack of other options, and withdrew from her, momentarily, laying his discarded jacket on the cleanest looking one. He indicated she lay there with a tilt of his head and she headed there without comment, sitting on the coat until he kneeled before her and pushed her onto her back. 

He wanted to spread her legs and fill her with himself, but he knew he would lose himself if he did, and he needed her to shatter first, to see her break like a wave on the shore. So he trailed his fingers along her entrance, moved softly where she wanted roughness, dragged cries from her as he dragged his fingers along her skin, and when he saw her begin to fracture, he covered her with his mouth and tipped her over the edge. 

And then it didn’t matter what she wanted or he wanted anymore, he shoved her legs open and crawled between them, pushing himself inside her trembling depths and his mouth onto hers, breathing her breath, his hand under her, lifting her to meet his thrusts until the edges of his vision blurred and he flooded her with every drop of himself.

***

The problem with the wave breaking on the shore is that it takes a little bit of the shore away when it leaves. 

***  
He barely noticed when she slid out from underneath him and slid her legs into her pants and pulled her shirt over her head. But he started to pay attention when she put on her shoes. He didn’t know where she thought she was going, but he wasn’t going to let her leave yet. He stood and reached for her, but she evaded his grasp, and ducking behind him, grabbed his coat from the mattress. He backed up to the door, blocking her access to the barricade, but she didn’t try to pass him. Instead, she looked at her pip-boy, turned a dial, and then in a flash of white lightning, disappeared. 

***  
A week later, Elder Maxson led his invasion force, most of whom had survived the destruction of the Prydwen, back to the Capital Wasteland on foot

**Author's Note:**

> LOOK AT THIS PICTURE and tell me that man isn't pissed enough to do something drastic. 
> 
> http://tessa1978.tumblr.com/post/139567863397/maxsonbooty-it-started-raining-shrug-emoji-i


End file.
